“through all parts diffused,
That she might look at will through every pore.”
I had, however, arranged with the rest of the company, that the moment we reached the cliff over the shore, and turned to the left to cross the isthmus, the conversation should no longer be about the things around us; and especially I warned my wife and Wynnie that no exclamation of surprise or delight should break from them before Connie’s eyes were uncovered. I had said nothing to either of them about the difficulties of the way, that, seeing us take them as ordinary things, they might take them so too, and not be uneasy.
We never stopped till we reached the foot of the peninsula, née island, upon which the keep of Tintagel stands. There we set Connie down, to take breath and ease our arms before we began the arduous way.
“Now, now!” said Connie eagerly, lifting her hands in the belief that we were on the point of undoing the bandage from her eyes.
“No, no, my love, not yet,” I said, and she lay still again, only she looked more eager than before.
“I am afraid I have tired out you and Mr. Percivale, papa,” she said.
Percivale laughed so amusedly, that she rejoined roguishly—
“O yes! I know every gentleman is a Hercules—at least, he chooses to be considered one! But, notwithstanding my firm faith in the fact, I have a little womanly conscience left that is hard to hoodwink.”
There was a speech for my wee Connie to make! The best answer and the best revenge was to lift her and go on. This we did, trying as well as we might to prevent the difference of level between us from tilting the litter too much for her comfort.
“Where are you going, papa?” she said once, but without a sign of fear in her voice, as a little slip I made lowered my end of the litter suddenly. “You must be going up a steep place. Don’t hurt yourself, dear papa.”